


Chekov's 18th Birthday

by woollen_pharaohs



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Drunk Everyone, Drunk Spock, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, PWP, Threesome, birthday gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woollen_pharaohs/pseuds/woollen_pharaohs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Captain takes Chekov and his crew to a club to celebrate Chekov's 18th Birthday, and has a present planned for Chekov later on. </p><p>Set between Star Trek (2009) and Star Trek Into Darkness (2013).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chekov's 18th Birthday

Scotty's singing some drunken chant as he sways side to side, pints of beer sloshing out of the glass, more alcohol on the sticky floor than in the glasses. He slams the tray down on the table, grinning.

"Happy Birthday son!" Scotty shouts, slides the pints across the table to each person.

It's Chekov's 18th birthday and Scotty has the tendency to let the whole world know about it.

"You can stop saying that now," Chekov says with a smile, wrapping his hands around the cool glass.

"I can't say it enough bud! It's a grand celebration, we can finally drink together!" Scotty claps his hand on Chekov's shoulder, winks.

Chekov scratches his head, but it's Spock who corrects Scotty, "I do believe I'm correct in saying that Chekov could indeed always drink legally in his home country, he simply could not legally purchase alcohol until he turned 18."

Kirk leans on the small table, nudging close to Spock, claiming his space of course. "Buying drinks on your birthday is no way to spend it."

"Actually, it usually goes that once you're 18 you have a big party and you're meant to buy all the alcohol for your guests…"

"Hey, hey, we're celebrating you tonight, that's how it goes in my culture. So no buying anything. It's on us."

"Thank you, Captain."

"No problem, now drink up!"

"Not me, I'm hitting the dance floor. Pavel?" Uhura asks, a cheeky grin on her face.

"Oh, no I can't dance." Chekov stammers.

"Suit yourself," and she's gone in the throes of women and men with hives on their heads and glowing skin and stories woven into fabric projecting movies across their bodies, moving together separate and together on the dance floor.

Spock downs the pint easily and sets the glass neatly on the table. Scotty burps loudly, slams his glass down, careless if it smashes.

"Spock how are you-" Scotty hiccups, "you've had the same amount of drinks as us, how are you not just a wee bit tipsy?"

"That is because I do not feel the effects of terran alcohol."

Kirk's eyes go wide and he slings an arm around Spock's shoulders, "why didn't you say anything?"

"I am happy to indulge in drinking terran alcohol with you to celebrate Chekov's birthday but it was logical to avoid informing you that terran alcohol does not affect me simply because I have no intention to feel those effects tonight."

"No intention? It's Chekov's _eighteenth_ birthday, it's _tradition_ to drink," Kirk slurs, "as your Captain I command you to _get drunk_."

Kirk stares Spock down, his arm still heavy on Spock's shoulders.

Spock hails the barwoman.

"A Vulcan brandy please,"

"That's it!" Scotty cheers.

 

\- - -

 

It's late, Chekov couldn't guess the time if he tried. Uhura's lost navigating the dance floor, Scotty's slipped away to join Sulu at the billiard table and it's just Spock, Kirk and Chekov now, all heavily drunk. Spock's smiling in ways Chekov's never seen and Kirk keeps whispering in Spock's ears, looking cheekily at Chekov, like they've got some kind of secret up their sleeve.

Kirk gets up and takes Chekov's hand, helps him stand steady though it's not quite as successful as Kirk had hoped, "Come 'ere, I've got one last birthday present for you,"

Kirk winks at Spock, who tries to walk steadily behind them. The Captain takes his two crew members upstairs to the rooms, club music still hammering bass vibrations through the floor. There's technology to block it, but it's vintage, it's part of the atmosphere. Kirk fishes out a platinum key card and keys into the door.

The room's lavish, a four poster king sized bed blanketed in velvet and curtained with silk, in deep reds and purples, romantic and regal. There's all kinds of gadgets you would expect of a high class hotel room, everything from a salon  machine, to shoe polishing, to a food generator to a tv that spans the wall, anything you could ever need and anything you could ever think you would need. It's just luxurious enough to suit the Captain of the USS Enterprise, and getting a whiff of the carefully selected scent of the room makes Chekov feel like the first born prince of Russia.

"This is your room?" Chekov says, still examining every detail of the room, the fine architecture of the wood in the ceiling.

"This is _our_ room," Spock says, brushing passed.

Spock sticks his foot into a hole in a machine which automatically unties his shoes, slips them off his feet. Kirk drags Chekov to the bed, sets him down, pushes Chekov's legs apart with his knees. Chekov's unsure what to do, body slack, lips parted, this is his Captain, his _Captain_. And his fucking _First Officer_ is crawling _naked_ onto the bed, sliding himself around Chekov's body, firm torso pressed against Chekov's back.

Chekov leans back, head supported by the crook of Spock's neck. There's a rhythmic beat coming from the club downstairs and it's ricocheting in Kirk as he moves.

His Captain smiles, "happy birthday Chekov,"

Kirk's lips are on Chekov's, Spock's lips on his neck. Hands on his clothed erection, hands around his waist, fingers on his thighs, pulling down his pants, shoes off, shirt up, hot love behind him, in front of him. He feels faint but alive, distant but awake in his dream. Spock hooks his arms beneath Chekov's arm pits, shucks him to the centre of the bed, still Spock's body between his and the velvet.

Kirk's eyes flicker, a silent conversation between him and Spock, hidden from Chekov's view and understanding. Spock tilts Chekov's head towards him, dark eyes shut, kisses him. Chekov studies Spock's concentration through his dark lashes, that hitch in his breath. Kirk slings his legs over Chekov, straddling him, leans down to kiss Chekov's abdomen, flicks his thumb beneath Chekov's underpants, scrapes across the sensitive skin. It's ticklish, don't stop, do it again, hips roll, Spock must be hurting, Chekov hopes he's not hurting, it's going to hurt, he doesn't care, it's his birthday.

Kirk's voice is raspy when he speaks, "how do you want to do this?"

He's surprised at his 0% of hesitation, "I want you to fuck me."

"Done deal, birthday boy," Kirk says.

Underpants are off, a magical technique, wet lips around Chekov's cock, an expansive cave. Chekov ruts against Spock, moans with the first officer, sounds he's never heard before, never thought he'd ever hear, wants to hear his whole life, stuck in this moment in time, on the brink of it but not daring just yet, wrapped in love, in bodies, in the people he respects.

Spock shifts beneath him, lets Chekov arch, accommodates for Spock's fingers reaching for Chekov's hole, slips in, it's his fucking birthday, okay? Chekov's close, Kirk pulls back, it's unfair. Kirk reaches for the bedside table, old fashioned lube for a new fashioned guy, dips his fingers in, leans close.

"Spock," Kirk says, commanding, a scripted line, a reminder?

Spock's cheek twitches, he nods slightly, kisses Kirk chastely, returns to Chekov. Spock's fingers return to Chekov's hole and this time they're slick, it's better, it's easier and it's working and somehow Spock's got the same rhythm as Kirk, pumping his cock, slick, he's just a boy, he's just a boy. Hold on.

"You ready?"

Chekov doesn't answer, sweat on his forehead, dripping down his thighs. Spock nibbles Chekov's ear, between skin and teeth, "he's ready."

Chekov nods, hand on Spock's neck, creep around, fingers exploring Spock's ears, so that's how they feel.

"Fuck you're sexy," Kirk says, he's talking to them both, Chekov knows it, he feel so fucking sexy, this is the best fucking birthday.

Chekov peels himself off Spock, it's hard, he's so hard but he does it, he takes control, "we'll do it like this," and his hands are on his Captain's shoulders, pushes him down on the bed, it's his captain, his captain.

Spock's close behind him, hovering, static, adjust the aerial. Chekov pushes into his Captain and there's gasps in Russian not even Uhura could decipher. Spock probes Chekov's entrance, briefly bites Chekov's shoulder and it's a sharp bite when he's inside, but it's good, oh it's good you're doing a good job, my first officer.

Kirk's splayed out on the bed, lips puffy, they're always puffy, making orders with those puffy lips how dare you Captain. Warm hands on his hips, it must be slippery, Spock's there too, they're joined by hands, by experience, minds melded and Chekov's just here for the cameo appearance.

Chekov holds his Captain's arms for balance and Spock's ass for fun, and Spock pumps his Captain and tickles Chekov's nipple, and Kirk's everywhere, he's everywhere and it's ticklish and it kinda hurts but it's good, it's better, it's everywhere and they somehow find a rhythm, easier for Spock and Kirk to adjust to than Chekov, the birthday boy. Spock's so big, he's this big enigma and Chekov gets to see this, to feel this part of Spock and it's such a big thing but only a tiny fragment of a clue. But fuck, they know what they're doing.

Spock guides him, he fucks him and he fucks him in time and with just the right amount of push so Chekov can fuck his Captain, it wouldn't be easy without Spock. More Russian, a pigeon dialect, Vulcan grunts, human moans, swears, it's a chorus, the thunderous drum and bass from downstairs providing the beat, the cue.

It's surprising, he's not expecting it, Spock comes first in three quick slams, shudders, it really takes it out of him. Chekov follows suit and Kirk scratches Chekov's back, clinging on, split open mouth split open cock spilt open. They collapse, velvet crusty and mushy in places. Spock finds his way beneath Chekov again, the body blanket, cradles him, babies him, there's bodies either side of him. Kirk rests his head in Chekov's hair, thumb traces his face.

"I think our gift was received well, wouldn't you say Captain?" Spock says, chuffed.

"I think so," Kirk agrees, hugging Chekov.

"Definitely," Chekov says.

 

 

 

 


End file.
